


The After Party

by TheTwistedWillow



Series: Destiel Weekend Writing Challenges [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: After Party, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Benny Ships It, Caretaker Castiel, Caring Benny, Castiel Takes Care of Dean Winchester, Charlie Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Charlie Ships It, Destiel - Freeform, Drunk Dean Winchester, First Dates, Fluff, How We Met, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Morning After, Prompt Fic, Supportive Benny Lafitte, Surrogacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 10:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12230613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTwistedWillow/pseuds/TheTwistedWillow
Summary: Based on "Thanks to My Friend" prompt from FB group Destiel NaNoWriMo: In an effort to cheer up a friend after a party, drunk Dean tries to hit on the strange guy reading a book in the drunken aftermath, absolutely certain that he'll be hilariously rejected. Imagine Dean's surprise when his plan backfires.





	The After Party

Dean lowers his beer. “Benny Benny bo Benny, don't sweat nothin’. Ya know she'll come ‘round.”

“Jus’ been difficult. Andrea’s family hates me and that puts pressure on us both. One minute I'm the greatest, the next she insists I hafta prove myself.”

Dean can feel his head nodding along with what Benny is saying but the words feel like cotton stuffing: all fluff filling his already stuffed head. He really needs to stop drinking.

As if sensing this Benny reaches over and takes Dean’s beer from him. Dean tries to chase it and almost falls off of his chair where they’re sitting in the kitchen at some house owned by a Gavin or a Gabe?

Benny easily holds the beer out of Dean’s reach. “Cuttin’ ya off, brotha.”

“Ya know, you  _are_  the greatest,” Dean says, already losing his train of thought about his beer. “An--Andrea knows. I have  _the_ best idea.” Dean wags a finger at Benny’s nose. “One big F-U to her family.”

“What might that be?” Benny clearly isn't as drunk, his voice too normal and his sad eyes somehow also appear amused.

Dean beckons with his fingers to indicate Benny should lean in closer for a secret. Benny obliges and Dean loudly rasps, “Elope,” into Benny's ear. Dean pulls back, grinning and nodding. “Huh? I'm a genius.”

Benny pats his shoulder. “You're a good friend. I'll take your suggestion under advisement.” Benny looks around the beer-littered room and sighs.

Dean follows his friend’s gaze and then drags it out of the kitchen and out across the living room. His eyes slowly trail over half-passed out people slumped over each other, a couple making out, a dude reading a book in an armchair, a huge brown spill on the carpet that still looks wet, the static from the muted television.

Wait, who is reading a book at a party? Or rather, after a party? Dean’s vision swims when he looks back over too fast but his heartbeat picks up double time. In the middle of drunken aftermath there is a guy just sitting there, underneath a lamp, reading Dante's  _Inferno_.

Dean can make out either black or dark brown hair, hard to tell from clear in the kitchen. He's looking down but if Dean had to guess he would say the man must have brown or hazel eyes considering his coloring is on the more olive-tan side.

The man turns a page, his book lowering just enough for Dean to see a wide, sculpted nose and just a bit of upper lip stubble.

“Dean, brotha, ya droolin’! What're you looking at?” Benny peers past Dean and through the doorway.

“Benny? Do you see that vision?”

“I see a buncha drunk asses that were makin’ fools of ‘emselves not even an hour ago. Don't see no vision.”

Irritably Dean waves a hand, furrowing his brow. “No! That one.” He tries to point, his tongue caught between his lips in concentration, but his finger doesn't want to seem to point where he needs it to go.

The man glances up just then and does a double-take, noticing Dean and Benny staring. Dean can tell he's frowning by the way his eyes narrow and his forehead wrinkles. The man lifts his book higher.

“Blue,” Dean whispers.

“Blue what?”

“Benny!” Dean shouts suddenly. “Got ‘nother buh-rill-yunt idea.” Dean ignores Benny’s groan. “Ya see, that bookworm there… gorgeous. Outta my league. I'm gonna go try-n tap that. You enjoy the show.”

“What does that mean?” Benny asks, laughing.

“It means I'mma make a fool of myself to make ya feel better. ‘Cause that’s what friends  _do._ ”

Benny shakes his head but he’s laughing and he comes to stand in the doorway to watch.

“S’cuse me, pardonez-moi. Learned that one from ‘im,” Dean says to a sleeping person, hitching his thumb back toward Benny.

Dean continues to stumble and sway as he crosses the room, but he feels like he's really got it together and has  _some_  finesse.

His eyes are locked onto his target, the back of a leather-bound collector’s edition of the famous poem. The man hiding behind it pulls the book up even higher and Dean grins. He's got no chance with an intellectual type who prefers living inside a story than joining people at a party.

Dean knows he is completely wasted, and that he probably stinks of booze, beer, cigarettes and that nacho cheese Jo had spilled on him. Which should make the rejection even funnier. Dean turns to give Benny a thumbs-up and turns back to his mystery man, almost falling over from dizziness.

Dean clears his throat and blue eyes peek over at him, widening. “So, hey. I personally liked Purgatorio better.” Dean giggles, actually giggles, because he's pretty sure that came out completely incoherent to anyone but himself.

The man lowers his book a little further, tilting his head at Dean, weighing something in his mind. Probably how bad a loser Dean is for knowing anything literary, never mind the fact Dean is talking to someone reading at the tailend of a kickass party.

“I'll just cut to the chase,” Dean slurs. “My buddy is having a bad weekend and I knew you wouldn't give someone like me the time of day so let me down real big. Let’s make ‘im smile, whaddya say?” Dean raises his voice and says with gusto, “Will you go on a date with me?”

The book lowers down to the man’s lap and Dean’s eyebrows shoot up, all merriment dying away. The top half of the man’s face was gorgeous but that was before Dean saw his sharp jawline or that Cupid's bow of a lip. And now he can't damn near breathe. 

Blue eyes flicker past Dean and over, to what Dean presumes is Benny, before connecting back with Dean.

Dean has a deep, give-em-hell rumble of a voice. But he doesn't expect the same sandpaper scratch of depth to come from those plump lips. “And what if I didn't want to let you down? Would your friend be alright?”

“It’s ok-- wait, what?” Dean has nothing to hold onto but that doesn't stop him from holding out a hand like a wall will magically appear for him to lean against.

The man stands and grabs Dean’s shoulders, his book collapsing to the floor. Another pair of hands snake under Dean's arms from behind and Benny’s voice sounds comes through near his ear like he's in a tunnel.

“Alright, Dean, time ta leave the nice man alone and get you ta bed.”

“I live here,” the mystery man says over Dean’s head. Dean wants to ask him his name but his stomach is rolling. “He can take my bed, third door on the right, down that hall.”

Dean lets Benny drag him toward the room as he mumbles something about blue eyes and hellfire because it really is a damn good poem and those really are some damn pretty eyes on that man.

Voices swirl around Dean as he closes his eyes against the soft, hickory-scented bedspread of the bed he just laid down on.

“Here's a bucket. I think he may empty the contents of his stomach.”

“I think yer right.”

“You're welcome to stay with him. I'm going to go back out there and start cleaning up some of Gabriel’s mess.”

“You live with Gabriel?”

“Yes, I'm Castiel, his brother.”

“Nice ta meet ya. I'm Benny. This bum here is Dean. Sorry if he gave ya a hard time. He wasn’t makin’ fun or tryin’ to offend ya.”

“It's fine. No troub--”

The voices fade and darkness surrounds Dean until the sound of songbirds wake him up, his eyes burning at the incessant sunlight spilling through half-opened window curtains. Dean groans.

“Do you need to throw up again?” a low voice asks behind him.

Dean slowly rolls over expecting a naked body to be in bed with him but instead he's met by a familiar face sitting across the room in a chair, a book on his knee.

“Again?” Dean asks hoarsely. He clears his throat and tries to remember who this person is and if they did anything together.

“There's water on the nightstand for you. Your friend had to go, got a call from his girlfriend?”

Dean stares a moment longer before trying to sit up and get a drink of water.

“Uh, why am I naked? Did we--?”

“You did that on your own. You should still have boxers on. Benny and I kept you from removing more than that.” The man smiles slowly, eyes twinkling. “You almost passed out, threw up and then complained your clothes smelled and began removing them.”

Dean throws an arm over his face. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “That sounds like something I'd do.” He peers out at the man again. “The stripping part because the clothes stank, I mean. I don't normally get so wasted.”

“No problem. I, uh, took liberty to wash your clothes. They're in the dryer right now.” He wrinkles his nose. “You were right, they did stink.”

Dean chuckles and rubs the heels of his hands over his eyes. His stomach feels hollow and sore, a touch of a headache prickling behind his eyes. He must doze off for a moment because a maraca sound startles him. He puts his hands down to find the man shaking an ibuprofen bottle at him.

“Oh thanks. I mean, for everything. You may want to incinerate your bed sheets.”

The man reclaims his seat and observes Dean in amusement. “Do you remember anything about last night?”

“Well, sure. I remember drinking and having a good time. I don't remember you very well. It's hazy.” Dean scratches the back of his head. “You look familiar?”

The man smiles and it makes laugh lines crease at the corners of each eye. “Have you really read Purgatorio?”

Dean huffs a small and confused laugh. “Uh, yeah, why?”

“Did you really mean it when you asked me out?”

Dean licks his lips, his heart skipping a couple beats. “Oh, I… don't know? No? Yes. I mean, maybe?”

“Dean,” the voice says, his name rolling off that tongue like molasses syrup, dark and sweet and slow. The man tilts his head just so and Dean can remember him doing that last night. Remembers not getting an outright rejection.

“Y--yes? Wait, what is your name?”

The man rises to his feet and sets his book down on a desk with a loud thunk. “I'm Castiel.”

Dean shakes the hand reaching across the bed toward him. They're soft hands, the hands of a scholar, of someone who doesn't do a lot of manual labor. Fingers cool, long, slender. He knows his own are rough around the edges and the pads of his fingers calloused.

The conflicting textures of their hands make for an arousing sensation but Dean remembers himself. The guy offered his bed and watched over him all night, nothing more.

“Nice to meet you, Cas,” Dean says and Cas’ smile deepens. They finally let one another go.

“Well, Dean, I think that once the dryer is done with your clothes you should get dressed. Unless you prefer to try something of mine.” The man frowns as he thinks, turning to his dresser to rummage around the drawers. “I may have something…”

“Right, yeah. I really should get outta your hair. You've already done too much.” Dean flushes with embarrassment for taking up his time and bed and puking his guts out who-knows-how-many-times while the guy cleaned up after him.

“You don't want breakfast?” Cas asks incredulously, peeking over his shoulder where he's bent over looking in a drawer.

Dean tears his eyes away and looks toward the ceiling. “Well, yeah. I can hit up a drive-thru or make something at home.”

Cas straightens. “I see. But what if I took you out instead? For coffee and breakfast?”

“You want to take _me_ out? After last night? Did you even get to sleep?”

Cas shrugs. “I don't have anything else to do today so I can catch up on sleep this afternoon.”

“Man, I feel really bad--”

“Stop. I helped you because I wanted to, because I think maybe you're worth it. Out of all the people that come and go around here… I don't know, Dean. You know Dante's work and you just seem different... special.”

Dean snorts in disbelief. “Yeah right.”

Cas ignores that, other than giving Dean a pointed look like he's up for the challenge of proving Dean wrong, and goes back to looking in his drawers. He finds an AC/DC shirt that looks like it'd be a little big on him but perfect for Dean, as well as a pair of drawstring sweats. “Here we go! You're going to look very fancy.”

Dean laughs but accepts the clothes while Cas leaves the room and gives Dean some privacy to change.

 

***

 

Charlie sighs and rests her face in her hand, elbow on the diner’s table. “What happened next?”

Dean waves a dismissive hand. “You don't want all the sordid details.”

Charlie lifts her head from her hand in favor of grabbing her drink. “Uh, yeah, dude, I do.” She takes a long, noisy slurp.

Dean shares a look with Cas. “Well, we went out for breakfast and really hit it off. It was just easy and normal with Cas. I could tell him anything.”

“And he does. He won't open up to anybody but he can't seem to shut up around me,” Cas laughs.

“After that I brought Cas home. I mean, I had to get my laundry, right? I helped him strip his bed and remake it…”

“Only to dirty them,” Cas snickers.

“Dude, we're trying to impress her, not scare her away!”

Charlie laughs and looks between them. “Come on. You're married. If you don't ‘do the do’ then we got more important issues to worry about. Unless, of course, you're asexual. In that case, carry on.”

“Well, lets just say I rocked his world and he finally got to go to sleep after being up for hours.”

“He's so humble.” Cas rolls his eyes.

“Hey, you took care of me, it was my turn to take care of you. It’s been me and you for two years. And now…”

“Now you want to take care of someone together,” Charlie says, finishing his sentence. “Okay, yes. I’ll do it. You guys are the ones.”

Dean's mouth drops open and Cas squeezes his fingers tightly, grounding him because he swears he could levitate right now if Cas weren’t holding on. “Really? You really fucking mean it? I mean, sorry for the language…”

“Dude, stop! I'm saying yes because you're not trying to be all fake with me. Do you know how many couples I've interviewed and have gotten the squeaky clean version of their lives? Curse your head off in excitement, I don't mind.”

“I-- we can't even begin to thank you…” Cas says thickly, choked up.

Charlie smiles, tears shining in her eyes. “It would be my honor to grow your baby for you.”

Dean turns to Cas and pulls him into a tight hug. “We owe Benny and Andrea a fruit basket or something,” Cas mumbles, sniffling into Dean’s chest.

Dean chuckles. “In some weird, twisted way I think you're right.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> TheTwistedWillow


End file.
